


wait right here (i’ll be back in the morning)

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [25]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arguing, Gen, Motherhood, Swearing, dont ask me if this is no apocalypse au or not idk, gamers [kids with divorced parents] RISE UP, the wire keeping them together fucking snaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 16:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: The radio plays long into the night, well past reasonable hours. He goes to sleep at seven-thirty and wakes up at eleven, unable to sleep. Their parents always—always—argue late into the night.





	wait right here (i’ll be back in the morning)

**Author's Note:**

> i know that i’m not that important to you but to me, girl, you’re so much more than gorgeous

The radio plays long into the night, well past reasonable hours. He goes to sleep at seven-thirty and wakes up at eleven, unable to sleep. Their parents always—always—argue late into the night.

But this night is different.

The muffled talking and hushed whispers he usually hears and tries to block out is replaced with yelling, screaming so loud he wakes up at a quarter past nine instead. In the bed next to him squirms Shelby, still asleep but sleeping fitfully, bound to wake up because of the yelling soon enough.

He just lays in bed, tucked underneath the covers, and takes it all in. He knows that his parents don’t love each other—not in the way the other kids talk about their parents loving each other. His parents love each other in the way he loves his friends, not the way parents on TV kiss each other on the cheek before and after work and call each other “honey” and get all dressed up nice for each other before dates. His parents barely talk to each other before three PM and they never call each other “Mom” or “Dad” or “Honey” or “Sweetie” like everyone else’s parents do, they call each other by their first names (or last, if they’re really angry). And they sure don’t kiss or go on dates.

They also yell at each other. A lot. It’s like the way he yells at his friends when they do something stupid or dangerous, but a lot harsher and a lot more frequently. It never scares him—or Shelby, for that matter—but it makes him worry. It makes him worry the way he worries when two of his friends get in an argument, giving each other the silent treatment for a week and laughing when they get in trouble.

His mom always had this one face she did when she was angry. Eyes narrowed, a small frown on her face, arms crossed and leaning back. But she only did that whenever she was angry with his dad—never whenever she did that with them. She was much kinder to them then she was to their dad.

(He once tried to recreate it. Got the narrowed eyes, frown, and arms right, but never could seem to perfect her lean. It didn’t really matter, because he looked enough like her to get it close enough to right. Same brown skin, same eye shape, same thick, wavy-curly hair, same small frame. The only differences were how his hair was lighter—dark brown, not black—and how his eyes were green in comparison to her amber-gold eyes.)

It never gets too far past that. They always hush up when he or Shelby walks in. Try and usher them out of the room, smile and say that everything’s alright, that they were just having a little argument. They don’t call each other “Mom” or “Dad” or “Honey” or “Sweetie” then either.

On that night, the yelling only got more frequent and louder as the hours passed. Shelby eventually woke, blinking sleepily, in confusion, asking him what was going on downstairs. He can’t answer, so he shakes his head and shrugs.

She slipped out of bed, opening the door as quietly as she could. The yelling only grew louder still. “What are you doing?” he asks as she steps out onto the floor, the wooden boards creaking the smallest amount underneath her feet. She doesn’t answer, just turns back to him and gestures him forward, towards her, as she makes her way towards the stairs. He doesn’t think that it’s a good idea, but he gets out of bed anyway, follows her, and stays next to her side as they peer around and down the railing.

Isaak rubs at his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighs loudly. “Anika, you can’t seriously be considering this, can you?” he says in a hoarse, strangled voice, bracing himself against the kitchen counter.

“It’s a good idea,” Anika responds dully. “It would help us a lot, and you know that. Just because something isn’t ethical doesn’t mean it can’t help us. You know we need the money. You know I’m a legal adult who can do as she pleases.”

“You’re barely twenty-five—I’m barely twenty-eight! We can’t be having a midlife crisis now. You have two children to watch over.  _ Our  _ children, no matter how much you hate me. This whole thing is extremely fucking dangerous, it could put all of us at risk, you know that, right? I wanted to do something very similar, years ago, but you advised against it. Calling the kettle black, amirite? God, this is… this whole situation is fucked, you know that, right?”

She resorts back to her “angry” pose, glaring at him like he’s the scum of the Earth. Isaak just keeps talking. “I don’t even know why you would want to take a position like this! You know what kind of people work those kinds of jobs, those companies, those industries. You would let people like that around our children?”

“It’s not illegal,” she says, “and you let your cousins around our children every few months. The same level of danger, just not in the direction you're pointing in. Their wives and children look absolutely miserable every time we see them.”

“Don’t you fucking dare accuse my family of things like that,” he growls.

“It’s true.” Anika turns away from him. “You show much less concern for our children than you think you do. Remember when Shelby feel off the swing and almost broke her arm? I’m sure you don’t. You didn’t even notice until Sienna yelled your name, didn’t you? Maybe if I went into that industry, I would find someone who actually paid attention to when my kids were hurt. Unlike  _ you. _ ”

“You always make it out like I hate our children, I do nothing for this family, blah blah blah,” he says, voice rising. “What about you? You’re out at work a week out of the month! That’s twelve weeks a year where you aren’t even in direct contact with your children, much less watching over their wellbeing.”

“As far as I’m aware, those weeks, you call in babysitters and your dad to watch over the kids while you fuck off to god knows where. I’ve talked to your old man, Isaak, and the things about your parenting skills he says…”

He slams his fist onto the table, and Anika doesn’t even flinch. Her back is still turned to him, nails tapping against her arm. “At least my parents are around to watch over their grandchildren!”

“Oh, really?” She turns and looks furious, his words finally getting to her and snapping the stretching cord of tensions. “You’re playing that card, huh? The classic, ‘oh you don’t talk to your mom or dad anymore,’ you know what? The only reason that your parents are even needed in this household is because you aren’t competent enough to watch over our kids on your own! You shouldn’t be so fucking worried about me going out, getting a job that’s closer to home and that doesn’t force me to fly to other states once a month since you know how to properly parent, right? Since you know how to watch the household when I’m gone, _ right? _ ”

He and Shelby shrink back. They don’t know what their parents are arguing about to the fullest, not yet, anyway, but it doesn’t sound good. They have never heard their mom or dad get that angry about anything ever. It scares them. He shivers and grabs a hold of his sister’s hand, presses close into her side.

“I’m a perfectly fine parent. I’m the one who stays at home all the time—a stay-at-home parent if anything else. It’s not my fault you’re getting so worked up about your mistakes that you’re projecting them onto me,” he growls, fucking growls. 

“Me? Projecting onto you?” Anika’s voice rises louder and louder with each syllable until she’s practically hysterical. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got that on the wrong way,  _ Mackenzie. _ If you want to talk about projecting, talk about how you won’t shut up about your kids following in your ‘family business,’ despite knowing your cousins' goddamn actions and how it’ll be broke by the time they’re ten. Maybe then you’ll start including me in conversations about  _ my  _ children's futures, for once in your pitiful life!”

“I’m pretty fucking sure it takes two to make a child in the first place. They’re  _ our  _ children. We both have fucking custody, so if anything, that’s what makes it count!” Isaak is digging his nails into the table and still refuses to look his almost-ex-girlfriend in the eyes.

“Well, if you’re so absolutely sure of them being ‘our’ children, then why have you never called yourself their dad?”

Isaak straightens himself, turns, and looks at Anika, who’s practically fuming by now. Her hair’s all disheveled, still in her pajamas, five-four but still radiating like she could take down a man double her size. “I’ve never, once, heard you call yourself a dad! Not in front of the fucking hospital nurses, while I was in  _ labor, _ not when you were talking to your ex-girlfriend, who you cheated on, not to your dad while talking about being a parent—not even in front of your own. Damn. Kids. Have I ever heard yourself call yourself ‘dad.’ They barely refer to you as it! I’ve only ever heard Shelby say ‘Isaak.’ How fucked up is that?”

“Anika—”

“I named our kids! You were too busy trying to smooth everything out with your girl to ask if you wanted one of them to have your last name! Shelby and Sienna Lynx; you’ll have no legacy to bring on because you didn’t bother to pay attention to the  _ mother  _ of your  _ children  _ in childbirth. It’s not my fault that you cheated—I didn’t even know you were in a relationship!

“Anika, please, Nika—”

She yanks her hand away, the one he was reaching for. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she hisses, her eyes a golden fire. He flinches away, backing a few steps back until he doesn’t feel like the sun was going to burn him to a crisp. Metaphorically, of course.

“Who’s the one who has to work for hours, taking time away that could be used to spend with their growing children, because someone didn’t want to bother and find a job?” She takes a step forward and jabs a finger into his chest. “Who’s the one who had to take Sienna to the hospital because someone didn’t bother to check if she was allergic to something?” Jabs again, harder. “Who’s the one who actually bothers to tuck in their children at night? Because it sure as hell isn’t someone called ‘Dad,’ since, again, you’ve never bothered with nicknames, have you?”

She laughs harshly, and Isaak honestly can’t pinpoint when everything in his life went to shit. (He can, and it was when he slept with his best friend while drunk and while engaged to a very pretty girl that made him very happy. But he would never admit that it was his fault.) 

Shelby sniffles, slightly, and murmurs, “Why are Mom and Isaak arguing?” She’s not crying, but he is, and his tears mirror the ones down Anika’s face.

“Okay.” Isaak puts his hands in front of him, defensively. “I know you’re mad, Nika”—(“Don’t fucking call me that!”)—”but we can work to fix this, right? When you stop being so… self-centered, I guess, we can start working together and try and fix this, or whatever. Work together on fixing your attitude, more like.”

“Fixing  _ my  _ attitude?” she shrieks. “You’re the patronizing fuck who keeps calling me ‘Nika’ despite how many times I tell you not to!”

“I mean, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

She glares at him but he’s feeling cocky now, feeling arrogant, getting mad. “Well, maybe since you’ve spent so much damn time yelling at me, it’s not time that I yell at you?” he says, pushing her away from him much more roughly than he intends to.

“That’s not what this is about,” Anika says haughtily.

Isaak grimaces. “Well,  _ now  _ it is.”

“Oh, no,” Shelby whispers right before the dam breaks.

“You’re the one who’s boss fucking hates you and refuses to give you a check higher than a hundred a week, despite the fact that you’re severely underpaid with three people to help pay for. It’s not my fault that I let myself seek help in the form of my father, while whenever you get stressed out, you have a panic attack, shut down, and shut yourself away, even if people  _ need  _ you. At least my parents love me. At least my children know they can trust me, and come to me when they’re worried about  _ you. _ At least I didn’t resort to fucking my best friend after one shot and one drink, even after seeing the ring on his finger, like some desperate  _ bitch." _

She stumbles back on that one, pushed by an invisible force, her ears ringing. The twins raise hands to their mouths because they know “bitch” is a very bad word. Isaak realizes what he’s done too late and, stuttering, eyes wide, says, “Fuck, Nika, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it—”

“Get the  _ fuck  _ out of my house.”

He leaves. Grabs the bag he packed for “emergencies” and storms out the front door, letting the door slamming shut behind him rattle the house. The neighbors are watching in yards and through doorways, and Anika watches through a window as he starts his car and drives off, almost running into a street sign on his way out.

_ He’s gone, _ a voice in her head supplies, and she has to lean against the kitchen counter to steady herself. Chokes out a sob and wipes her snotty nose off on her pajama sleeve. 

Shelby and he slip off the stairs, walk towards their mom hesitantly, freeze when they see her crying. “Mom?” he asks, and Shelby echoes it. “Are you okay?”

Her head jerks upwards, and, to their dismay, she starts crying harder. “Fuck. Shit. You two saw and heard that entire thing, didn’t you?” she says. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that the two of you had to see that go down.

She sinks to her feet and her children run into her outstretched arms, curling up in her lap, themselves crying over something they don’t fully understand. “It’s okay,” she coos, petting their hair and rubbing their backs all while trying to stop herself from crying as well. “Isaak… he’ll be back in the morning. I think.”

He isn’t, and Anika can’t tell if the feeling in her gut is dismay or relief.


End file.
